


The Underground

by be11atrixthestrange



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be11atrixthestrange/pseuds/be11atrixthestrange
Summary: Harry Potter orders Kreacher to do the impossible: have some fun
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	The Underground

_**-12 Grimmauld Place-** _

"Kreacher? Can you come into the drawing-room?"

Kreacher was startled by the voice that echoed into the kitchen. Even though he hadn't served the Black Family in years, he still resided in their home, and Harry Potter's voice simply felt out of place.

_Master's calling, but Kreacher doesn't want to talk to him. Kreacher might not have to. Master didn't give an order. Maybe Kreacher can say he's busy..._

Even though Harry Potter's question wasn't technically a command, Kreacher still felt a tug of obligation toward the drawing-room, from where his rightful master had called.

_Kreacher must remember he serves the Potter boy. Even though the Potter boy doesn't ever give clear orders._

He dropped the cleaning supplies onto the kitchen counter and dragged himself away into the other room.

"Hi," said Harry brightly. He was standing at an open desk drawer, pointing inside. "What's this?"

Kreacher shuffled toward the drawer and peered inside. There were old shards of parchment, old quills, inkwells, and other miscellaneous junk, but notably to Kreacher, there was a button.

_Master won't notice it. He won't think it's peculiar._

"This is a junk drawer," Kreacher stated.

_Except for the button._

"Even the button?"

_Master was not supposed to find out about the button._

Because he couldn't lie even if he wanted to, Kreacher reluctantly shook his head. "No. The button is not junk."

"So it's yours?"

Kreacher nodded.

"Did someone give you clothes?" Harry lifted his eyebrows imploringly and added "Was it Hermione? Did she try again?"

Kreacher couldn't shake his head fast enough. _Kreacher would never accept a gift of clothes,_ he thought.

"Tell me how you got it. And while you're at it, tell me why it's burning hot," said Harry. "That's the only way I noticed it."

As Kreacher could not detect any available loopholes in Harry's command, he was compelled to tell the truth. So he told Harry what he wanted to know.

The button was a gift from another house-elf. They chose a button because it was small, compact, and easy to hide. House-elves weren't supposed to own things, so possessing a button, something of inherently little value wouldn't raise flags. It was also a common enough household object that it could be thrown into a junk drawer and remain undetected by a wizard.

The button happened to be enchanted with a Protean Charm. House-elves used it as a communication device, and when it burned hot, it meant it was time to gather.

"Gather?" asked Harry, once Kreacher had finished. "Where do you gather?"

The subtlety of the button was supposed to prevent questions like these. Masters generally overlooked the cleverness of their servants, but not Harry Potter.

Kreacher answered him as vaguely as he could. "Underground."

There was a hint of pride in Harry's eyes. He smiled. "You know, we used this same charm back in school to enchant galleons to communicate the time of Dumbledore's Army meetings…," he trailed off, reminiscing.

"Kreacher won't go," he croaked. "Kreacher doesn't want to go to The Underground."

"Why not?" said Harry. "You've been summoned. I think they're expecting you."

_Kreacher doesn't enjoy the Underground._

"Kreacher won't. Kreacher doesn't like it."

"Go have fun, Kreacher," said Harry, as he tossed the flaming hot button into Kreacher's hand. "That's an order."

Kreacher, who could see no way around following his master's command, grasped the button, frowned at Harry, and vanished to The Underground.

* * *

_**-The Underground-** _

If a Muggle stumbled upon Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all they would see is a run-down ruin and a sign alerting them to potential danger. It would be unlikely for a Muggle to even get close enough to see anything, because repelling charms kept them far enough away and filled them with a sense of foreboding when crossed. The Underground repelled Wizards with a similar set of enchantments.

For a Wizard, crossing the barrier of the wards felt like walking into a curtain of negativity. First, they could no longer see their clothes, and became convinced that they were naked. Unlike House-elves, Wizards weren't used to feeling so self-conscious and humiliated.

The second effect was regret. They would feel it the minute they walked through. Any questionable morality of their most recent decisions swam to the forefront of their minds and demanded repentance. House-elves were accustomed to the constant urge to self-punish, but Wizards were not.

Lastly, the wards rendered their wands as useless and invisible as their clothes. They still had wands, of course, but they could no longer see, feel or use them. Most Wizards scrambled into their pockets the moment they became convinced that they were naked, and when they couldn't find their wands, they panicked. House-elves remained unaffected, since their magic didn't require wands.

There were also physical barriers designed to filter Wizards that managed to move past the wards. The Underground had no visible doors, and the only way to enter was through Apparition. The same enchanted button that alerted the elves to a gathering acted as an apparition-induced portkey. Without it, they'd have nowhere to go, no direction.

In order for a Wizard to enter The Underground, they had to find an enchanted button, resist the crippling negativity of the wards, and try to apparate wandlessly once inside the protective barrier.

It was safe to say that Wizards didn't come around too often.

* * *

Kreacher reappeared in a large empty field on the Welsh coast. It was dark out, he could smell salt in the air, and the crashing waves muffled the reverberating bass from the underground speakeasy nestled under the cliffs.

He stepped inside the wards— or at least he thought he did. The wards did not affect Kreacher, so he wouldn't truly know if he was within their boundaries until he clasped the button in one hand and snapped the other's fingers…

And there he was. Kreacher materialized inside the uneven walls of The Underground where the smell of elf-made wine was strong enough to make him dizzy, and the wailing of a fellow elf's off-key attempt at karaoke assaulted his ears relentlessly.

_Kreacher doesn't want to be at The Underground. Kreacher doesn't approve._

The room was decorated with balloons and sparkling gold streamers that reflected beams directly into Kreacher's eyes. Kreacher, who was used to darkness, winced at the light.

_Harry Potter ordered Kreacher to come here. Harry Potter sent Kreacher to have fun._

Kreacher dragged himself past an open closet bursting with colorful scarves, socks, and jewelry. He scowled at a pair of elves who were taking turns adorning themselves with as many flamboyant accessories that they could fit on their small frames.

He shuddered at the thought of putting on clothes and the punishment it would earn him if he were still serving the Blacks. He watched the elves for a few moments, before his eyes settled on a box that overflowed with vibrantly hued knit hats.

_Kreacher could try one. Kreacher serves Harry Potter now, and master Harry wouldn't mind._

Just the thought paralyzed the elf with guilt. Even though his current master would never punish him for it, for some odd reason he still felt chained to the expectations of those he served before Harry. With a shudder, he tore his gaze away from the tempting box of clothes and continued his exploration of the bar.

Kreacher stumbled across the room, eventually happening upon a table of rowdy elves. They were carelessly holding drinks that sloshed around their glasses and spilled down their hands when they threw their heads back in laughter. He shuffled past the table to see the source of their amusement— an elf that stood on her chair, mimicking the words of her master.

"And then she tried to throw the hot soup at Velga's face but," the House-elf named Velga paused, possibly for dramatic effect, while the other elves leaned in to listen more intently, "she dropped the bowl on her own foot!"

The elves burst into another round of laughter and leaned back on the legs of their chairs, splashing the contents of their glasses around. Velga remained standing and adjusted the position of the oversized sunglasses and scarf she had likely taken from the front closet. She waited patiently for the laughter to settle before she spoke again.

"Then," she continued, commanding everyone's attention back. "She tried to run toward Velga, but the floor was slippery with soup, so she fell down instead and hit her head!"

There was another chorus of guffaws around the table, and one elf laughed so hard he choked on his wine, showering mead across the table from his long, hooked nose. None of the other elves seemed to care, but Kreacher trembled at the distant memory of a time he had been so uninhibited, only to earn a beating from the Black family matriarch.

He wanted to join in the laughter, and he tried. He served Harry now, and technically could laugh at a Witch or Wiizard's expense without repercussions. But for some reason, the laughter got stuck in his throat. It no longer came naturally after so many years of repression.

_Kreacher can't._

Kreacher turned away from Velga and her raucous audience and shuffled over to the stage, where another huddle of elves stood clapping and cheering. The elf onstage held a microphone to his lips and was belting the lyrics to a song Kreacher had never heard before.

_I'm too damn young to give up on the light_

_I'm used to the darkness. I'm used to the darkness…_

The song had a strong beat and a heavy bass, and Kreacher felt his foot start to tap along. It didn't help that Dezzy— whose name Kreacher guessed by the supportive chants of the dancing elves below the stage— was quite a performer. Like Velga, Dezzy was dressed flamboyantly from head to toe, clearly having raided the same closet at the bar's entrance. The sequined bomber jacket he wore was plastered with glitter that reflected light like a disco ball. A pair of aviator glasses rested on his nose to keep the beams out of his eyes, and every stomp of his tap-shoe-clad feet added another heart-pumping beat.

Kreacher noticed the involuntary tap of his toes and froze in fear. He put all of his willpower into steadying his foot. For a moment, he wondered if this is what Harry Potter meant when he ordered him to 'have fun', but it couldn't be— at this point in Kreacher's long life, doing something so unproductive as dancing only induced more guilt.

_Kreacher shouldn't dance._

Kreacher knew that he'd eventually be unable to resist the dance floor's allure if he stayed, so he turned around and stumbled to the bar instead. As he took a seat, he squinted up at the menu to read the drink options, but the words were obscured by large scrawling letters that revealed the reason for the evening's gathering.

_**Tonight We Honor Dobby, A Free Elf** _

_Dobby disobeyed his masters. Dobby didn't follow all orders._

Kreacher had thought those words many times, but this time the thought came with notably less judgment than it used to.

"Pleased to see you Kreacher," said a voice behind the bar. "Winky didn't expect Kreacher to answer her call."

Kreacher narrowed his eyes at Winky. "Kreacher didn't want to answer. Kreacher doesn't like coming here."

Winky poured Kreacher a glass of magenta-tinted wine and slid it across the bar into his hand. "Then why is Kreacher here?"

Kreacher picked up his wine glass and sniffed it, as if he was testing for poison. He didn't like to drink things he hadn't poured himself, especially underneath caverns by the sea. "Master Potter found the button and ordered Kreacher to come. He ordered Kreacher to have fun."

Winky nodded. "Most masters would punish their elves upon finding the button. Kreacher is lucky."

Kreacher shook his head and stared intently at his wine, still unsure if he should drink it.

"Is Kreacher following his master's orders?" continued Winky.

The older elf grunted. "Kreacher is here," he said, gingerly raising the glass to his lips. He took a small sip, and was quite pleased with the taste. "But Kreacher is not having fun," he added, before taking a larger gulp of wine.

"Has Kreacher tried on clothes?"

"Kreacher won't," he said, thinking of Velga, and Dezzy, and the other foolish-looking elves piling on clothes at the entry closet.

Winky nodded. "Has Kreacher tried singing?"

Kreacher looked over to the stage where Dezzy was now bowing as his audience applauded. He passed the microphone to another elf who then began rumbling the first few lyrics of a vaguely familiar Weird Sisters song— something about Hippogriffs. Kreacher shook his head. He had no desire to listen.

"Kreacher doesn't sing."

"Well, if Kreacher thinks it would be fun," said Winky, as she motioned toward the round table that was crowded with laughing elves. Velga was back at it with another anecdote of her master. "Kreacher can make fun of Harry Potter."

Kreacher didn't even know what he would say. Harry Potter was nice to him, and would never throw hot soup in his face. Harry Potter usually gave him reasonable orders, with the exception of this one— _having fun._

"Kreacher can't make fun of his master."

"That's where you're wrong," said Winky. "Here at The Underground, Kreacher can if he wants to. That's why Winky built it. Winky knows Dobby would have loved it here," she added sadly.

Kreacher took another long sip of wine. "Kreacher doesn't _want_ to make fun of Harry Potter."

 _Want_. Kreacher was still uncomfortable speaking in terms of wants, rather than needs— or more accurately— duties. Maybe it would get easier someday.

"Very well then, Kreacher. No one, not even Harry Potter, can force Kreacher to have fun."

Kreacher sighed— the stress of carrying out Harry Potter's order was growing on him, but the wine was helping. Winky seemed to understand, because she refilled his glass before scurrying along the bar, where another elf was waving her down.

Kreacher continued sipping his wine, staring solemnly into the glass, and tried to repress the rising guilt that came with leaving Harry Potter's orders unfulfilled. Maybe someday Kreacher will have fun at The Underground.


End file.
